


The Lord of Silver Fountains

by Caddock (laureate)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laureate/pseuds/Caddock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bard may tell of many worlds, but a wordsmith can re-write them.  A Christmas gift, for friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lord of Silver Fountains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [falling_awake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falling_awake/gifts), [breakofday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakofday/gifts).



Once upon a time, there was a King.  He was a warrior-king, raised in exile, for his home had been stolen by a fearsome dragon.  He mounted a quest to reclaim his home, calling to him his most trusted kin.  They travelled for many months, and faced many trials, until they came at last upon the mountain where the dragon lived.  But the dragon had laid a deep enchantment upon the mountain, and the King fell under its curse.  He turned against kith and kin, and was roused to great anger, seeking war with all those who would seek the mountain.  Great armies gathered to storm the mountain and destroy the King.  In the midst of battle, the curse finally lifted from his eyes, but at great cost.  For his two heirs, his sister-sons, and the dearest and most beloved of all his kin lay slain for defending him even in his madness.  In his grief he sundered all claim to his throne, fell prey to his battle-wounds, and died.

Many years later, there was a young child who heard all these stories of the King and his quest, the great, noble Company that set forth to reclaim their home, and in their victory fell to ruin.  The child mourned for the King’s loss, and cast his eye far away, to where the mountain was said to be.  As he grew older, listening to more stories and recording new tales and telling them to the younger generations, he discovered that his words were magic words.  Words of power.  His voice could weave spells and his songs could cast enchantments.  Learning all this he took up an worn, grey traveling cloak that would hide him from unfriendly eyes and a book of old tales, and he stepped out into the wilds towards the mountain, singing a careful tune...

Once upon a time, there was a great King.  He was a warrior-king, raised in exile, for his home had been stolen by a great and terrible dragon.  One day, he called his closest and most trusted kin to him to form a Company, and set out upon a quest to reclaim their home.  They travelled for many months, and faced many dangers, until at last they came upon the mountain where the dragon lived.  But the dragon had placed the mountain under a terrible enchantment, and it called to the warrior in the king’s blood, seeking to turn him against kin and raise in him a great rage.  Yet, when the great King entered the mountain, and fell under the enchantment, he heard a quiet song that soothed his mind.  Even so, he had to fight long and hard to expel the curse.  When great armies came to march upon the mountain, however, his anger and greed did not master him, and he rounded up the leaders of the free peoples and helped in uniting them against the great foe that approached them.

Still, it was a terrible fight, and the King and his dearest of kin, his sweet sister-sons, fell during the battle, gravely wounded.  The members of the Company entreated the best healers of their allies, yet to no avail, for the second, dreaded part of the dragon’s curse had settled into their bones, eating slowly away at their strength as they grew ever weaker. 

As the kingdom returning was scattered about the battlefield in mourning, no one noticed a quiet figure slipping into the healing tents and spoke words to each of the three who were ravaged by the dragon’s curse. 

To the first, the great King––who was certain that his failures and slips due to the curse called out in his delirium that he had reached the bottom, and should be let fade into the darkness––the voice called and said _Arise, o great King, you are needed yet, for your kingdom must be a strong people, that know well the ways of war, an their own shortcomings, and instead seek peace._   At these words, the great pain ceased, and the King’s fever began to decline, and he fell into a healing sleep. 

To the second, the golden lion-heart—the King’s sister-son and first heir, whose wounds were greatly poisoned, and he sought not to fight against a battle he knew his body to weary to win—the voice called and said, _Arise, o golden King, you are needed yet, for your kingdom must be a wise people, that learn from their youth and their age, and seek in all things knowledge and understanding._   At these words, his struggle eased, and his body filled with new strength, to heal his wounds and fight his curse, and he fell into a healing sleep. 

To the third, the dark fey-wolf—the King’s sister son and second heir, whose reckless love for his brother and uncle had led him to great injury, and whose bright spirit made the curse burn all the faster through his fevered frame—to this last, the voice calmed and sang a song of joy, and a hand reached out to brush night-dark hair from the sweaty brow. _Arise, o silver Lord,_ the voice called to him _, you are needed yet, for your kingdom must be a joyful people, that rejoice still in gladness though they do not forget their great sorrows, and seek in all things that which is bright and beautiful._   At these words, his eyes opened, and he caught a glimpse of golden curls and laughing eyes.  The voice kissed his forehead, and he fell into a healing sleep.

When they arose the next day, hale and whole, a great cry rose up from the people, for the great heroes had fought death and the curse and arose victorious.  They drew together, and when the people called for their King, the great King bowed his head low, and called forth his sister-sons, and together the kingdom prospered under their three kings.

The great King became the King Beneath the Mountain, whose warrior spirit and honest candor of his faults made him even more beloved by his people.  The golden lion became the King of Carven Stone, whose wisdom and shrewd politicking guided their kingdom to greater prosperity.  The dark wolf became the Lord of Silver Fountains, whose merriment and laughter brought lightness to their peoples heart and soothed former enemies into friends and allies.  Together they ruled and their kingdom grew great and mighty.

One day, the King Beneath the Mountain disguised himself in a beggar’s rags, to linger among the people.  He re-strung his harp and began to play for he was a great musician.  As he played this tune, a traveller lifted his voice in song, and the King was enchanted.  He returned home, and spoke of this traveller to the other rulers.

The next day, the King of Carven Stone set out, disguised in peasants’ clothes, to linger among his people and sought work at a forge, for he was a great smith.  He struck his hammer to the metal, and hummed a tune.  Yet, as he was working, the traveler came to the forge to have his sword repaired, and upon hearing the King’s humming, raised his voice in song, and the King was enchanted.  He returned home, and spoke of the traveler again.

The third day, as the Lord of Silver Fountains was passing by the market place, he heard a sound.  Captured by the enchanting tune, he followed the music and found himself in front of a cloaked traveller from far away.The Lord lingered before the traveller, listening to his song, before moving on.  Every day after, he would seek out the stranger and entreat another song from him, that he might not leave. 

For seven times seven days did he go to the traveller, seeking his music.  Each tune was more beautiful than the last, and the Lord left better and brighter after each merry song.  The last day, the traveller was packing up his bags when the Lord finally reached him.  But the Lord entreated him once more, and once more did the stranger bring his lips to song.

  
_Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!_   
_The wind’s in the tree-top, the wind's in the heather;_   
_The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,_   
_And bright are the windows of Night in her tower._   


_Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!_  
 _Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!_  
 _The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting;_  
 _Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting._  


 _Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave him!_  
 _Wind him in slumber and there let us leave him!_  
 _The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be his pillow!_  
 _Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow!_  
 _Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn!_  
 _Fall Moon! Dark be the land!_  
 _Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn!_  
 _Hushed be all water, till dawn is at hand!_

The Lord was completely spell-bound by the tune, as it awoke in his heart some familiar song, some reminder of days past.  When the traveler bowed his head before moving through the crowds to leave, the Lord caught a glimpse of golden curls, and the memories flooded back to him.  This was his savior, the savior of his uncle and brother.

The songs the traveller sang were magic, and his words doubly so.  The Lord rushed to follow the traveller, but his concealment was too good and he lost the traveller in the crowd.  He called together his fellow rulers in a private council, and revealed to his uncle and brother all he had witnessed during their illness.  Together they included that this traveller was indeed their mysterious savior, and sought to reward him and thank him for the great gift he had given to them. 

The set out word to the guard of this traveller, that should he be sighted he be brought immediately before the Kings to receive their thanks.  After three days and three nights of searching, the captain of the guard (a dear friend and kinsman of the kings) brought forth his husband to speak in private council with the kings.  The Captain’s husband had once been a great thief, whose service, bravery, and loyalty to his King pardoned him for his past crimes.  He had searched his networks, and found news of the traveller.  He had checked into an old inn, and fallen gravely ill with a deep fever from which none could wake him.

The Kings had him brought to the royal halls at once, and set their best healers to seek his good welfare, but what they found tore them with grief.

It was discovered that the curse of the dragon was a deep and powerful curse indeed, and that for all the magic of the traveller’s words, he had not the strength to free the kings.  Instead, he had taken the curse upon his own bones, and because he was of different stock, the curse took far longer to set in, but still, with time, the curse had managed to find a way to eat at the traveller. 

They called together all the healers to discover what the magic was doing to him, but no healer could understand what was wrong, could explain why his fever steadily rose and his soul-light grew dimmer as he ghosted away.  None, until a dear friend of the Company called upon the Great Grey Wizard.  He looked deep with his magic, and with a solemn voice declared what he saw.  “He is of your kin,” he said to the dear friend, before turning to face them all, “from a time not yet come to pass, who sought to change the future of the terrible calamity that happened upon this mountain.  But the curse would not be denied, so now it seeks to send him back, and undo him as he undid its terrible work." 

The traveller was fading away.  He had come to this time through his magic, and the cursed magic of this time was slowly eating away at him.

“Worse still,” the great wizard declared, “a dark Power has laid claim to a part of his soul, and is steadily draining its life from him.  The great Enemy has sunk his claws into his heart, and is slowly carving a piece of it out and away, that he must keep locked up carefully in his deep fortress, in the far lands to the South.”   

At this many thought to despair, but the Lord of Silver Fountains called them all to hope, and started a great search. The kings all sought far and wide for a cure, but the Lord of Silver Fountains sought the farthest, for he found he had fallen in love with the traveller, and would not be parted from him.  Past the Deep Forests and Tall Mountains, did the Lord seek a cure, farther even than the traveller’s own home in rolling hills and green pastures.  He sought down, down, down, deep down in the south, until he came at last to great gates of evil.  He waited at the gates of the tower, and dressed himself in his finest silver raiment.

He called up to the gate, and sang the first verse of the song the traveller had sung to him:

_Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!_  
 _The wind’s in the tree-top, the wind's in the heather;_  
 _The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,_  
 _And bright are the windows of Night in her tower._

At his song, the gates opened, and the Dark Lord, the great Enemy stepped out with his entourage.  For all though he was a rule of all things evil and foul, he had a deep love for that which was bright and beautiful, and the mournful way in which The Lord of Silver Fountains sang a song with words of such joy caught him, for the young Lord looked like a silver star of the night sky.

“Your voice is as sweet as the heavens, silver-star” said the Enemy, “and your countenance fair.  Tell me what I might grant in return for your song.”  For the Enemy was wise and cunning, and would promise a great many things to those with greed in their hearts, and twist them into his will and liking. 

“Oh great lord,” the Lord of Silver Fountains called back up to the Enemy, “I seek only the heart and soul of my love, for it was his joy that I sang, with the sorrow of our parting.”

But the Enemy was covetous, and did not want to release the bright spirit he had captured, after meeting the traveller so long ago, and being shown kindness in spite of his evil. “You ask for my greatest treasure, silver-star” this was not true, for he held a great many bright souls that he had crushed and broken, and great wealth beyond most mortal imagining, “but I will grant you a night, that you might seek a part of it, and steal it away if you can, should you give me your name.”

But the Lord of Silver Fountains was no fool, and the dear friend of the Company had warned the Lord of the great Evil’s tricks, that the Enemy would seek one’s name and bind one to him with that knowledge.  “You are truly a great Lord of Gifts,” he called up to the Enemy, “I am called silver-star, the kin of golden-sun and sky-great, who would seek my love with all the pure memory of the ages the stars look upon and count our moments shared as most precious among them.”

The Enemy was slightly impressed at the young lord’s cunning, so he bid him enter their gates, and come in.  But the great Enemy was not to be fooled.  He took the a third of traveller’s bright spirit and placed it high atop the peak of a fire mountain, that to climb its high walls would burn the skin at the touch. 

Yet still, all night did the Lord of Silver Fountains toil, singing a song of waters that the traveller and sung to him, which cooled the stone beneath his feet, that he might climb the mountain without fear.  Even so, the song had run out by the time he had reached the peak, so he burnt his hands and feet upon the last few steps before claiming that piece of the traveller’s soul and tucking it deep next to his heart.

When the great Enemy discovered this he was very angry, but he was bound by his agreement, and let the Lord go.

The next night, the Lord of Silver Fountains waited at the gates of the tower, and dressed himself in his finest furred raiment.

He called up to the gate, and sang the next part of the song the traveller had sung to him:

_Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!_  
 _Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!_  
 _The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting;_  
 _Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting._  


And again, at the song, the gates opened, and the Dark Lord, the great Enemy stepped out with his entourage. 

“Your voice is as handsome as the great wilds, fey-wolf” said the Enemy, “and your countenance fair.  Tell me what I might grant in return for your song.”  For though the Enemy was cunning, the song entranced him, and he thought still that he might take this bright soul and submit it unto his keeping.

“Oh great lord,” the Lord of Silver Fountains called back up to the Enemy, “I seek only the heart and soul of my love, for it was his joy that I sang, with the sorrow of our parting." 

The Enemy, wary, responded as he had the first night, “You ask for my greatest treasure, fey-wolf, but I will grant you a night, that you might seek a part of it, and steal it away if you can, should you give me your name.”

The Lord replied, “You are truly generous, great Lord of Gifts.  I am called fey-wolf, the kin of lion-heart and savage-king, who would hunt my love with all the ferocity of the wild beasts and mark our chase filled with love and laughter.”

The Enemy was still impressed at the young lord’s cunning, so he bid him enter their gates, and come in.  Still, he did not think well that he be fooled twice, so he the second third of traveller’s bright spirit and placed it deep within a monster’s cave, that the foul get of the great Tree-posioner would slay him and vanquish the Lord. 

Again, all night did the Lord of Silver Fountains toil, singing a song of summer days that the traveller and sung to him, which lit the great cave that he might see and scare the monster back into its shadows.  Even so, the song had run out by the time he had reached the darkest depths of the monster’s lair, so he had to fight the beast, and was wounded by its fangs before he chased it back into the shadows, claiming that piece of the traveller’s soul and tucking it deep next to his heart.

At this the Enemy flew into a great rage, but he was bound by his word, and he let the Lord go.

The third night, the Lord dressed himself in bright armour of mithril, and waited quietly outside the Enemy’s great gates before knocking on the door and begging an audience with the great Enemy.  This time the great Enemy was at his most cunning and clever, furious at his defeat, so as he answered he did not open the gate, but stood high upon the ramparts, the last shred of the traveller’s soul held securely in his tight-clenched grasp

“O most gracious Lord of Gifts,” he called up to the great Enemy, “You have been so kind to me, that I would sing you one last verse ere I part from you, for even I have not the cleverness to wager against you thrice, with your great might and power.”

“Sing then, warrior-bright” hissed down the Enemy, “but first you must tell me your name, that I might mark your passing at the end of your life.”

The Lord replied, glancing carefully to the east, where he saw the first rays of the sun slipping over the great peaks.  “I am called warrior-bright,” the Lord of Silver Fountains cried, “reckless-savior, joy-bringer!  That with my words and smiles and laughter like a fountain I flood my realm with silver light!”

But before the Enemy could snarl in rage, he began the last verse of the song the traveller had sung to him.  The first and the last, for it was this song he had sung to him in his restless sleep under the dragon-curse, and this song that he had sought to part himself from the Lord’s beloved company, that the Lord might not suffer to see him fade.

_Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave him!_  
 _Wind him in slumber and there let us leave him!_  
 _The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be his pillow!_  
 _Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow!_  
 _Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn!_  
 _Fall Moon! Dark be the land!_  
 _Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn!_  
 _Hushed be all water, till dawn is at hand!_

And at these last words the Sun broke over the mountain, and cast the great Enemy in Light.  He shrieked and raged, and cast out his free hand to send great shadows of evil down upon the Lord of Silver Fountains, to end him with great agony and pain.

Yet the last shred of the traveller’s soul began to pulse, beating brighter and stronger like a child’s heart, and the great Enemy could not clutch so innocent and loving a heart without being burned like a thousand fires of the sun and moon and stars.  He let go of the spirit-piece, and The Lord of Silver Fountains reached out and caught it, cradling the precious burden close to his chest.

And in this tumult, the voice—the voice of the Lord’s greatest dreams, the voice of the traveller, the voice of thie Lord’s great love—cried out, “Oh Enemy, oh great Evil, servant to another Master, seek in your heart the truth, for come the end of days, my heart shall still be open to you, should you humble yourself and repent.

With those last words, the spirit rejoined together into a whole, and whisked the Lord to the traveller’s ailing bedside, where all gathered thought he was to breathe his last.  But the Lord of Silver Fountains cried instead with tears of joy, as he slid the careful heart and soul back into the traveller’s heaving chest, and found that, due to their closeness, their hearts could not be rent from one another.

The traveller woke with bright eyes of laughter, and shining golden curls, and leaned up to claim the lips of his Lord of Silver Fountains. 

There was great rejoicing in the kingdom, and the traveller—who was, in truth, the great Magnificent Knight—and the Lord of Silver Fountains—who was, in his heart, but a little more than a generous heart that beat in time with his One—lived long lives, filled with great legends.

And so I wish upon you, dear reader, that your life be long, and your legend great.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I know my fabulous Theta and Alyssa would skin me otherwise if I didn't tell. Dís becomes King of Ered Luin, which remains a dwarvish kingdoms for many centuries afterwards, because some old fogeys are just too stubborn to move, and—let's face it—we all know Dís was meant to rule anyways.
> 
> The credit to the poem, of course, goes to Tolkien himself, taken from the last chapter of _The Hobbit_.


End file.
